The Boy who continues to live
by Vitzy
Summary: Years have passes since a small boy was delivered to the door of No. 4, Privet Drive. Here is a strange tale of how history repeated itself and we find our selves coming around to a full circle. Here is the story of the boy who continues to live. ONE-SHOT


15:44

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

**A/N : This is a result of trying and struggling to write my own 'the characters read the books'. As usual I got distracted…this is what my imagination came up with!**

-The Boy who continues to live-

Mr and Mrs Potter, of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, were proud to say that they were perfectly extraordinary, thank you very much. They, and along with them, their brother and sister-in-law, Mr and Mrs Weasley, were the first people who would be involved in anything strange or mysterious. After all they did have a big reputation for just this sort of thing!

Mr Potter was the head of the Auror department at the ministry. He was a tall, skinny man with emerald green eyes, his characteristic round glasses and infamous lightening bolt shaped scar on the forehead. Mrs Potter was petite and had red hair, which truly defined her fiery, inner Weasley nature. The Potters had three children – James, Albus and Lily.

The Potters had finally got everything that they had ever dreamed of, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that the press would discover it. They didn't, well Mr Potter especially, didn't think that they could bear it if anyone found out about the Dursleys.

Mr Dursley was Mr Potter's cousin, but they hadn't met for nineteen long- and voldemort free- years. In fact, Mr Potter pretended that he didn't have a cousin, because his cousin and his wife were just as anti-magic as the Malfoys were anti-Muggles. The Potters shuddered to think what the family would say if the Dursleys arrived at Grimmauld Place. The Potters knew that the Dursleys had also a son named Bob who was the same age as James and would be starting secondary school the same year that James went to Hogwarts- which happened to be this September. This was another reason that the Potters didn't want to mix with their Muggle relatives. They didn't want their children mixing with a boy like that.

When Mr and Mrs Potter woke up on the exciting, blue-skied, Thursday, our story begins- or rather, continues… There was nothing about the London weather to suggest that 'magic was in the air' (well it's always in the air, but this is a Muggle saying, so for the witches and wizards out there – pretend it was written as 'strange and mysterious') Mr Potter hummed, 'a cauldron full of love,' an old tune that his mother-in-law used to like, as he picked out a turquoise coloured cloak to go over his robes. Mrs Potter went from room to room waking up her three children and godson, Teddy.

None of the six members of the household noticed a police car drive past at an alarming speed.

At half past eight, Mr Potter picked up his wand, kissed Mrs Potter on the cheek, and winked at his kids and apparated away before any accidental magic caused some kitchen utensil to come hurtling towards his head.

It was as he was walking up the Muggle London street, across from which the Ministry was located that he saw an FBI agent, who seemed to be staring at him. For a second, Mr Potter assumed that it must be another news reporter trying once again to ask him how he defeated the dark Lord, when he remembered that the man was a Muggle. Muggles didn't know he was famous!

He turned his head again, but the man was gone…Mr Potter shook his head. He must have been imagining.

He continued walking along the street, hurriedly and finally decided to pull on his invisibility cloak, as he was getting a bit paranoid of sneaky reporters. His mind was on the file case of one 'Klaus Zabini' whose trial was next week, when he passed a cluster of funeral attenders. It wasn't often in London that someone's death warranted such a mass community funeral, but clearly whoever had died were important enough to have a whole procession following.

Mr Potter finally arrived in his office, after having greeted his colleagues. He worked diligently up until lunch, and it was lucky his desk faced away from the window. For if it didn't, then he surely wouldn't have got much work done because out on the streets of London, all the Muggles were whispering amongst themselves and looking around with shifty eyes.

But at lunchtime, Mr Potter decided to stretch his legs and go for a walk. He decided to get himself a donut at the same time. On his way back from the bakery, he passed another group of people dressed in full-length black attire. He caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The director of the drills company – yes, his son, Robert."

Mr Potter was shell-shocked. Was it his cousin they were talking about? He dashed to his office, snapped at Lavender Brown, his secretary to charm his office so that no one disturbed him and almost floo called his home. His hand was just reaching for the floo powder when he took it out of the pot. Why unnecessarily worry his wife and family when he wasn't even sure if it was Dudley Dursley they were talking about. Come to think of it, he couldn't even remember if his cousin's son was even called Robert. He had not actually met the boy. The name might have been Rupert. Or Roderick.

There was no point in worrying Ginny. She always got upset and her soft brown eyes got a glint in them whenever the hated Dursleys were mentioned.

It seemed, that she had yet to forgive them for their (well mostly the elder two) treatment of her husband. In fact it would often be that it was Mr Potter who would be calming his wife down and reminding her that he was no longer the eleven-year-old boy who was forced to live in the cupboard under the stairs.

Harry Potter left the ministry and apparated close to his home when he accidently bumped into a forlorn looking man. "Sorry," he mumbled, still lost in his thoughts. But the man burst into tears, leaving a startled Harry to awkwardly pat his back.

"Sorry indeed! It is horrible; Grunnings will be over-taken by an American. Bill Gates is his name. The prices of drills will skyrocket. We must all pray together that a British buys the company before it goes out of our hands." And with that the man walked off, his shoulders further hunching.

Mr Potter stayed standing for a few seconds. He had just heard the name 'Grunnings' – a name that he hadn't thought of since he was twelve and those dreadful Mr and Mrs Mason came over. Mr Potter had just awkwardly patted a stranger and then had him just walk away as if nothing had happened.

The dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach was back- he was almost surprised his scar hadn't started hurting yet. The only times he felt a similar sense of dread was when the war was imminent and his scar hurt.

He didn't bother walking the rest of the way, instead he apparated straight into the living room, the blood wards around his house letting him in with no problem.

"Oh! I didn't notice you there!" Mrs Potter exclaimed, handing over a cup of hot butter beer to him. He took it gratefully and asked where the children were.

James was with his cousin Freddie at George and Angelina's place. Teddy was with Victoire at Shell Cottage. Albus and Lily were both at Ron and Hermione's, probably playing with their cousins Hugo and Rose.

Mrs Potter was quite the chatter box that evening, telling her husband all about their Muggle neighbour and the problem that the mother and daughter were having.

"…And she said she doesn't want to even go to university-Harry, what's a university anyway?" Ginny asked him.

But he was only half listening. He had just opened up the evening Prophet and the first thing that he saw was an image of an eleven-year-old boy with an article.

Ginny looked over his shoulder as they both read the title: 'Robert Dursley- the proud owner of his late father, Dudley Dursley's, company Grunnings.'

The couple looked at each other with wide eyes, both understanding the words. The pieces of information this morning seemed to fit together in Mr Potter's head as he set his jaw firmly and gave himself and his wife a little shake.

As they drifted off into restless sleeps, if someone had done legilemens on them, they would have discovered that Mr and Mrs Potter were thinking the same thing.

Even if something was happening with the Dursleys, it was impossible that Harry and Ginny could get involved in it.

They hadn't met Harry's relatives in almost twenty years…whatever was happening in their lives, couldn't affect them…

How very wrong they were.

The Potters might have finally fallen asleep, but the FBI agent was wide-awake. He had walked up to around where he assumed number twelve would be and then sat on a wall. It was not a particularly warm night, despite being August and the man kept shivering. For a FBI agent, he was quite pathetic because he flinched every time a car door slammed or a bird swooped over -head.

But it was nearing midnight when the man sat up straighter and his eyes focused on a spot just in front of him.

Out of thin air, a woman with a tight bun on her head and billowing cloak appeared.

Her brown eyes were warm behind her square glasses but her mouth was stern. Her whole demeanour was rather stiff and it wasn't surprising. Minerva McGonagall was brilliant at a great many things but dealing with emotions was not one of them.

She turned her eyes briefly to the man who was now casually leaning against the wall before taking out her wand. With a quick spell, a silencing charm was placed around them.

She finally turned to face the man who also stepped forward and before her eyes started to morph back into his usual self as Kingsley Shaklebolt.

"Ah, minister, I though you might be here today," Minerva said, attempting a smile.

Kingsley smiled serenely before replying," But of course Headmistress McGonagall, this is rather an occasion which I deem extremely important."

Minerva nodded and pulled out a watch with stars and moons instead of numbers and hands. It obviously made sense to her for she declared the tardiness of one Arabella Figg in bringing Robert Dursley to the location.

"So it is true then?" the minister questioned after a while. Minerva remained silent so he pressed on. "He is really the only living relative that the boy has got left?"

Minerva sighed dramatically and nodded. But the minister wasn't happy, "They were killed in a car crash…that's what's been on the Muggle news at least." Minerva pursed her lips but said nothing and so once more the minister carried on speaking, "You are sure this is the best place for him? Can we not place him in a Muggle orphanage?"

Minerva closed her eyes briefly before opening her mouth to speak to the man quite a few years her junior.

"The Dursleys died a horrible death, yes, but minister please focus on the boy. He will be scared and confused. In a few weeks, he will receive his Hogwarts letter. He will need someone to help him understand this. Besides the last time a wizard was placed in a Muggle orphanage, we were under his dark magic for half a century!"

There was silence once more. Finally an elderly woman was walking up the street, clutching her handbag in one hand and a small blonde-haired boy's hand in the other.

"My dear Arabella, how unfortunate to meet on such a sad occasion," Kingsley said sadly.

But Arabella had no time to respond as Minerva beckoned the three people forward. She cast the revealing spell and behind them the boy could be heard gasping as number twelve squeezed in between number eleven and thirteen.

"Ready?" Kingsley asked. Minerva nodded and taking a deep breath she walked up to the door. She picked up the big brass doorknocker and let it fall.

The past few hours for Robert had been nightmarish. He didn't know what to expect. He didn't know that he was a wizard. He didn't know that in a few seconds Ginny would open up the door.

He didn't know that in this moment in time, across the world, Muggles were raising their glasses and whispering: 'To Robert Dursley, the future of technology.'

It's a funny saying this…but the Muggles had it right when they said, that sometimes, history does indeed repeat itself.

**A/N : So what so you think? I'm not going to lie, I had a lot of fun writing this, but tell me what you think! REVIEW! **


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